


The Angel

by Zwiezraczek



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Flirting, Good best friend, Grief, Illuminated bar named Desire, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 03:10:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12902673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zwiezraczek/pseuds/Zwiezraczek
Summary: Chris could never felt as bad as he is feeling now, now his mother is gone. He can't find pleasure in his life anymore, he's grief striken, kind of suicidal, to make things short his will to live is gone. But his best friend Viktor, whou can't watch his soul mate in this state, invites him to the Bern's bar "Desire".





	The Angel

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago, hoping you will enoy it -because Chris is a fabulous babe, a devilish one, but still a babe that I love sooo much haha-

When she died, all the stars were drowned by the black holes from the sky. All the sparkles, that someday helped him being what he became, were lifeless. He remembered tears running on his face, creating a river on his round cheeks, a waterfall of salty drops in which the pale light reflected, shining bright like diamonds. That night, sobbing, he lost his last ally ;  the one and only who gave him a chance, the one and only who he loved :  his mother.  
  
He found one thing to do, seeing the rose's red petals coming from his wrist, tears playing with the other fluid.  His eyes were gleaming like pearls while her favorite song was playing endlessly,  _Fromidable_  by Stromae, a song on which he skated once, twice, being proud, trying to impress her, to show her that he was worth all her sacrifices, all her wounds.  His sun-kissed hair stuck on his sweaty face, trying to not break down again, throwing himself on his bed, face in this humid pillow.  «  _You_ _are beautiful, mon petit _ _Suisse_  », she was able to repeat it again and again, until the little boy was obliged to feel self-confident again, her carrying face, her smile which was worth a billion of sun rays, of milky-ways, he missed everything.  He always skated for her, because she ws the only one to know and to still support him.  As he turned on his back, looking at the deep end of his ceiling, he smiled ;  it was a winter night, snow was still falling here, in Bern, and he sat in the living room, nervous, shaking, afraid ;  he was only twelve.  Hands tangled, emerald eyes looking at the black carpet and his purple socks.  He said it out of loud, without looking at them ;  he feared her the most, knowing that disappointing her meant being dead inside, to feel his soul leaving his body in this cold, dark night and never coming back, crying forever ;  but she was the one who tried to understand him, to protect him, to avoid, she couldn't avoid what her husband said.  So, she slapped him, his father, the one who contributed to his life, to his first breath :  he never saw him again.  
  
A creek of red vine, diluting in the bath water ;  rays of the bulb reflecting on the mirror, making him look as fabulous as he never was.  He felt so...  Weak, snivelling here, alone in his mind, alone in his heart, alone.  He had to bandage his new treasures, the ones that nobody was able to see, he put his mask on -his smiling, pretty face- , a beautiful black sweater on his Apollonian body matching perfectly with his plum colored suit jacket.  Viktor called him out, as if he knew that something was going on, Viktor knew everything -except for the scars- and wanted especially to make his best-friend feel good again, to not see him cry anymore, to not see these black prints under his wet eyes, to never see him as depressed as he was at the funeral, wearing a red flower crown -as she wished, as she loved, she always wanted her son to be pretty, to be the most beautiful angel God created- sniffling, hiding his face with his left hand, watching through the glass of tears the coffin, the softest one covered with crimson velvet.  He sighed.  Deep breath.  He passed through the door.  This night was as cold as the one he came-out, the only shift was the sky full of stars and promises ;  full of her.  He couldn't resist putting a smile on his face, a real one, thinking of her.  But, as soon a cloud covered the Swiss city's sky, his mind grew darker, as if hell was gaining his brain, as if Satan himself showed him the way to his palace.  
  
-  Chris, here you are, were the first words he heard from his Russian friend, waving to him from the illuminated door from a bar named « Desire » ;  letters shining, a reddish light above him, music inside, smoke, alcohol -and drugs, no doubt-.  We're waiting for you since forever, yoghurt !  
  
He still called him with this stupid surname, which lightened a little bit his mood, he inherited from the well-known desert -who the hell calls a desert after a country? \- ;  his mother called him the same way -but in french-.  
  
-  But here I am, you little Russian, he replied, a smirk on his face, trying to act as casual as he always has been, smiling to his best friends, looking him right in the eye, trying to not get him worried.  Well, we will stick here, outside, in this fucking freezing city or I can come inside, drink some wine and meet your fabulous new conquête ?  
  
-  What a killjoy, he exclaimed with a point of irony.  Don't be such a rough friend, he continued, taking him by his arm, as Chris smiled with sincerity, rolling his eyes because his friend was hopeless -but still loveable-.  
  
He couldn't feel more comfortable in this crowd, he felt so little in there, all his problems shrank, all his doubts were dulled by the scent of the magical plant over there, floating in the air like a soft poison to which he couldn't resist anymore.  He felt dizzy, but in the good way, sitting on the red velvet of the sofa, in the corner in which a dark-haired man was sitting, putting his glasses on -they have slipped on the bridge of the sweaty nose-, mysterious eyes, but soft smile :  Viktor wasn't wasting his time in here, hell no.  Timidly, he said « Hi » to Chris, who was in front of him ;  « Yuuri, Chris.  Chris, Yuuri.  » His silver head friend sat against the cute young man, already a little red on cheeks, half-smiling, avoiding looking him in the eyes.  Chris sighted, Viktor was one lucky bastard, finding the most handsome men on Earth, from who-knows-where, smiling all the time, having fun all the time...  He really needed to be Viktor, sometimes.  He quickly changed his mind when between two shots of saké, the Asian boy went slowly drunk, alcohol's fragrance slipping from his delicate lips, and stuck to Viktor he was chirping a bit, making the other giggle after another glass of white wine.  Chris was tittering, searching an escape through the smoke, through the bicolor lights, and started regretting his comfy bed, his wet pillow and above all the ceiling, white and pure.  
  
-  Gonna get something to drink, somebody wants something, he asked, but his question stayed unanswered, between soft kisses, eye fucking, and all this glamorous stuff.  Okay, get it.  
  
The fuck he thought ?  Viktor was his best-friend, he knew him like no one, and how could he have missed the fact that when Viktor wants him in town is to show him his new lover over and above amusing him ?  « Your're really a shitty friend, Chris. »  
  
He sat, or fell he didn't really remembered, on the shining black bar stool ;  his elbows on the brown desk, hands under his unshaved face sustaining the chin, looking at all these bottles full of red liquor which reminded him of his, seen earlier in the bathroom.  
  
-  Sir, gimme like, one glass...  Two glasses of red wine, he corrected, vacant eyes, breathing softly.  Whatever you want, something to drink.  Pour it all in the glass.  
  
-  Depression or what, a warm voice asked near him, when he looked on his left he saw the oceanic eyes glowing, the purple light reflecting in them ;  Chris was unable to speak properly, mesmerised by the man.  Sir, we order this one, so another glass for me too, he continued smiling and pointing a bottle with his finger.  
  
It was long time that Chris hasn't seen a smile like his, delightful, innocent, pure, enjoyable.  His brown hair was falling in two parts on his forehead, in little curls like tornados chasing the sun, gleaming, he could nearly smell the fragrance of his perfume, Gucci's Guilty -Chris' favorite one-.  
  
-  Kind of, Chris finally answered, looking at the glass the barman was serving them, shitty life too, nothing worthing wasting saliva.  
  
But, in fact, he was just so desperately looking for somebody who would listen to him, no matter what ;  he raised his green eyes on him, sparkling like fireworks, he was smiling, with the most radiant smile he have seen in months ;  like her smile, full of love, carrying, soft, who could make melt every person on this Earth.  He emptied his glass too promptly, almost suffocating, coughing a bit.  
  
-  I really can't believe that, he said playfully, his hand on the edge of his huge glass ;  let's see what is hidden in your heart, because now, I'm kind of interested about what is on your mind.  
  
His cheeks went slightly reddish, avoiding his look ;  that was...  Too sweet to be real.  As he searched his words, he felt his soft hand tickling gently his ;  he couldn't resist and looked again at him, he gave Chris the most delightful look, the blonde could have fainted, now, right now ;  but he was too mesmerised by this man, and his angelic aura.  It was like she has sent a saviour, the one who could save him ;  the mysterious man.  
  
They talked for hours, he never knew if it was thanks to the wine, or to his exquisite smile ;  as he went back home -after leaving Viktor with now his Yuuri- he asked the stars illuminating the sky, guiding him in the dark night, why over all those persons he has chosen him, why he came and listened to him for so long, a perfect stranger in the bar ;  putting his warm hand on the blonde one's, and his light eyes, putting a storm in Chris's mind, creating a fabulous jumble of feelings, memories, happiness that he thought he never could feel again ?  As he reached his apartment, already forgetting how his wrist was hurting, and searching for his keys in his pocket, he reached a crimson paper towel, on which he found a really pleasant surprise.  
  
«  _Thanks_ _for the chat, I hope hearing from you soon, call me sometimes at the following number, kisses Chris.  The mysterious man._  »  
  
He simply smiled, maybe his mother never left him, but was only watching after him from this sky full of stars.  _The mysterious man_...


End file.
